


In Bloom

by MichaellaN



Series: Gardens on Our Skin [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Dream Sharing, Essek Thelyss sucks at romance but he's learning, Flowers from wounds, Frumpkin is an Emotional Support Animal (Critical Role), He knows EXACTLY what he's doing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Matchmaker Frumpkin (Critical Role), Pre-Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Self-Harm, Shadowgast because I love them, Soulmates AU, also some Bren and/or Caleb, kinda just a mash-up of a few of them together, mostly Essek centric, shared pain, spoilers if you're not caught up with episode 97, warnings for Trent Icky-thon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24250123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichaellaN/pseuds/MichaellaN
Summary: In rare instances, a single soul can be divided into halves at the moment of its creation. The two halves occupy different bodies, and call to its other half. The pair are often referred to as Soulmates.Essek never wanted a soulmate. That is until he saw the world through his eyes. But when abuse shows up as flowers on his skin, finding his soulmate and protecting them is no easy task.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Series: Gardens on Our Skin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068383
Comments: 59
Kudos: 460





	1. Chapter 1

Essek Thelyss stared at his mother from the door’s threshold as she studied the new mark in the mirror. A tattoo of a large blood-red rose, laced with gold around the edges, was in full bloom, centered just above her heart and spread well beyond her neck, framing the outline of her jaw. It must resemble the wound remarkably. 

His gut turned at that thought. But the Umavi’s expression was stone, absent-mindedly tracing the delicate petals that signaled his father’s, her soulmate’s, death. No one could survive a bloom that large.

She had been accumulating a lot of blooms recently. A few vines here and there from minor cuts and scratches, the occasional batch of posies to match his bruises, and carnations for any blades that make it through his armor. But the gold; that was magic, and fire by the looks of it. The way it caught the light reminded him of glowing embers. It would have been beautiful, had he not known its meaning.

When he could no longer bear the sight of it, Essek turned and stormed silently out. 

_Soulmates._ He thought dismissively. _I pray I never bear such a curse._

### 

_**In rare instances, a single soul can be divided into halves at the moment of its creation. The two halves occupy different bodies, and call to its other half. The pair are often referred to as Soulmates. Manifestations of Soulmate calls can vary from case to case. Some pairs share a subconscious, with dreams taken from each other’s memories. Most commonly, however, is the ability to sense wounds dealt to the other half, whether it be shared pain, or a visual manifestation representing the other’s condition. Combinations of these occurrences are possible, depending on the strength of the soul’s bond, but none have been recorded to possess more than two.** _

_Essek read over the text in the lesson. He’d originally heard of this phenomenon from his parents when he was small, but the mythos of it had lost its luster over the years. As a child, the word held such magic in it._ Soulmate. _it held the same wonder as Fairies and Trolls for other children._

_But now, he knew that Trolls were disgusting creatures that bled poison, Fairies were better known for being pricks than princes, and to have a Soulmate was to have a curse placed upon you for all time, if his own family was any example._

_His parents’ bond had begun several lifetimes ago. A death bloom would not be an unfamiliar sight to either of them. Their reactions to any blooms were vastly different. His father would worry and pace, constantly checking the mirror for new flowers in any vital spots. His mother, on the other hand, looked at them with near indifference, before covering them up and going about her day. Though she would hang a little closer to him whenever he came home safely._

_Essek reached the bottom of the page and realized he had not retained any of it. Shaking himself from his distraction, he returned to the top and continued his studies._

### 

The Consecution ritual took the entire day. And by its conclusion, Essek was exhausted enough to sleep for another. It was a rare occasion he actually used his bed. Most of the time he preferred to trance so as to cut down on his least productive hours. But in this condition, he doubted he could focus enough on his meditative state to get any real rest from it.

So he crawled under the covers and allowed sleep to take him. He dreamt of rolling fields of golden wheatgrass, and sunlight that warmed his skin, rather than burn it. There was a quaint wood-paneled house, with a woman tending flowers outside. She waved to him, and Essek felt an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome comfort. Like he was coming home.

When he awoke, Essek felt more rested than he had been in ages. His skin still buzzed with the warm remembrance of the dream, and he wondered if sleep had ever felt so good. The lazy comfort was short lived as his home’s enchantments notified him of someone at his door. Grudgingly, he donned his vestments and his mantle and glided down to greet his queen’s messenger.

The day passed uneventfully as any other as he fulfilled his duties. Dull paperwork aside, he enjoyed his job. His talents as a spy or an interrogator were rarely needed in these times of relative peace, so his abilities were free for use in pursuit of his own research into Dunamancy and its applications. Focus eluded him today though. His mind wandered to the golden fields in his dream, and the woman beckoning him home. 

In the end, Essek abandoned his research for the day in favor of a walk through Rosohna’s marketplace. He picked up a few spell components he’d been running low on, as well as some groceries he’d been meaning to purchase. On the way back, he stopped in a book store on a whim. The selection was meager as far as his usual arcane interests, nothing he didn’t already have a copy of. 

One book carelessly placed on a pile of new arrivals to be sorted caught his eye. It was bound in soft golden leather with the worn outline of a horizon etched into the cover. He didn’t recognize the language, but a quick spell revealed the title to be _**In Light of Dusk**_. Skimming through, it seemed to be a collection of short stories and legends of the Fae Wilds, like an old children’s book. Charmed by its simplicity and nostalgia, Essek returned home with the book in hand.

He found little more focus that night attempting to trance than he did in his studies earlier, and decided if his time were to be wasted in daydreams anyway, he might as well spend it sleeping. 

He was greeted by the house again. The woman, and now a man as well, welcomed him inside. He could smell fresh bread and a vegetable stew simmering over a fire. The sound of warm laughter and conversation floated through the room to his ears. A cat sprawled lazily in his lap rumbling contentedly against him. A plate of small round cookies decorated with slivers of almonds was shared between them, and when Essek awoke again, he could still faintly taste the sweet, nutty flavor.

As weeks went by, Essek found more and more use of his bed. He started to view it as a sort of portal to another plane, where he was greeted with fields, sunlight, and warm meals, always bathed in the soft golden glow. At times, the dreams would shift to large towers, and studies of simple magic, surrounded by what he assumed to be other students. 

The cat was a frequent visitor to these dreams. Always following or laying on some part of him. Most recently he had taken to laying across his shoulders, warming his neck. After each dream, Essek woke up well rested, but missing the feelings of warmth and companionship they gave him. He performed the tasks required of him well during the day, learning to split his focus between his work and the now ever-present daydreams that called him back home. He worked as close to exhaustion as he could bear to ensure a swift shift into sleep.

One night, his dream was far clearer than usual. The golden haze was gone, and he was in a strange room with two of the other students. The cat was draped, as usual, across his shoulders and an older man stood in front of him with a table covered in jagged green shards of some type of crystal, or maybe glass. The man spoke to him, and for once the voice he heard wasn’t muffled. He saw himself placing his arms above the table. The crystals glowed white with the man’s voice, and Essek recognized a spell being cast. Crystals floated around his arms, adjusting their angles and positions. All at once, they pierced his skin, and Essek jumped upright in his bed gasping, first from surprise, then from pain as he felt knives in his arms where the crystals were.

As soon as it started, the pain vanished, and Essek pulled his sleeves up to inspect his arms. From his elbows to his wrists were fresh blooms of baby’s breath, shining with a metallic silver sheen as they caught the light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went through quite a few rewrites on this one. I hope to get chapters out to you every week or so.  
> I love hearing from you guys, so don't be afraid to leave a comment!!

Frumpkin lapped at the bandages on Bren’s arms, and even though the contact made them throb and sting, he was glad for the effort. He reached up to pet his new familiar. 

“It’s okay, Buddy. Master Ikithon said if this works, we could unlock an entire new school of the Arcane. A few cuts is well worth it.”

The fae cat purred into his hand, reminding him of his childhood pet whose shape he’d chosen for the spell. He smiled at the creature, and scratched his ears.

“Good cat.”

### 

Essek stared stupidly at the baby’s breath that now covered both his forearms. The moonlight from his window danced across their silver sheen. 

He had suspected before that his dreams might have been a soulmate connection, but here was undeniable proof. He’d witnessed the shards plunging into their arms, and shared in their pain. And now he was marked with a magically induced bloom that would no doubt scar them both.

A sudden sense of protectiveness surprised him. Whoever his soulmate was, _someone_ was hurting them. Essek’s mind raced as he tried to remember the man’s appearance from the dream. Long face, grey hair, balding on top, and a subtle, anticipating grin that made his skin crawl. He burned the image into his mind as he got the components together. Clearing out the space, he prepared his spell, and began to scry on the man.

His mind’s eye flew above the clouds until he saw the towers from his dreams. Drawing closer, the sensor caught sight of red robes before it cut out abruptly. Frustrated, Essek let loose a series of curses in Undercommon as he set about finding a new target for the spell. He tried the location next, only to find it was just as protected from his divination as the man was.

Essek found himself wishing he knew more about his soulmate. What they looked like, their name, or anything that would make the spell even remotely possible to cast. The bloom on his forearms almost hurt when he looked at them. Then, he was sure he really did feel them ache, as if someone were pressing on a bruise.

 _The wounds are probably still sore._ He thought. Then he stopped. This person was his soulmate. He may not know who they are, but he possessed something of theirs already. Something far more personal than a name or a face. He had half of their soul.

Scrambling for the spell’s components again, he focused on the silver bloom, on the memories of fields, and almond cookies, and cats draped over shoulders like a scarf. He reached out to the other half of his soul, and cast his spell.

The sensor carried him again to the city of towers, and this time, found him his target. He was a human boy, perhaps in his mid, or late-teens. He had short, fiery red hair and a small cleft in his chin. Strikingly blue eyes stared fondly at a familiar looking cat as he reached up with a bandaged arm to pet it.

“ _Gute katze._ ” the boy said, and Essek remembered too late that he had never recognized the language in his dreams.

### 

“People will think you’re crazy if they hear you talking to it.” Bren jumped at the unexpected voice and spun around. She was leaning against his door frame, uncrossing her bandaged arms to brush a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes.

“Ah, hallo, Astrid. You surprised me.”

“Honestly, Bren,” Astrid said, walking in to lean up against his desk beside him instead. “I know you like cats, but it’s a familiar, not a pet.”

“Why can’t he be both?” Bren asked defensively. He turned back to his familiar. “Frumpkin is a clever cat. And besides, he likes to cuddle.”

“You named it?”

“Him. Frumpkin is a He. And, of course I named him. Otherwise, how would I answer when someone asks me his name?” She rolled her eyes at him.

“They wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t around your neck every time you go outside.” 

“It’s chilly, and I already said he likes to cuddle.” Frumpkin mewled at this and nuzzled his hand to continue petting. “See?”

“You’re impossible.” Astrid sighed, and made for the door again. “Go to bed soon. Master Ikithon wants to see us early tomorrow.”

“Yeah, alright, Mother.” As he turned away, a book hit the desk next to his cat, who jumped up with a surprised yowl before landing on his bed. 

“Ungrateful brat.” She shot back at him with a little grin before closing the door just hard enough that it could be considered a slam. Bren smiled and picked Frumpkin up under his front legs, holding the fae to his face.

“Well, I think the book was a bit rude. What about you?” The cat reached up and booped his nose in agreement. “And that is why you are my favorite cat.” Bren put out the light, crawled into bed, and fell asleep with Frumpkin purring on his chest.

### 

Coming back into himself, Essek sat on the floor bewildered. Of all the things he’d expected to find, the young man he saw happily petting his cat while chatting with a friend had been most certainly **not** on the list. 

Aside from the bandages, there was no evidence of any abuse at all. 

Had he overreacted? 

Essek tried to push the thought from his mind. The dream, or vision, or whatever it was, had been too specific; too _precise._ Ritualistic, even. What that man had done to his soulmate couldn’t be anything short of sinister.

 _And he allowed it._ Doubt slipped through his reasoning and assaulted his mind, replaying the vision again and again. He saw the boy offer his arms willingly. He had known what would happen, and he _let_ it. 

He chose it.

Did he even _need_ help?

Does he even _want_ it?

### 

The white-hot glow of the enchantment’s final stages pierced Trent’s eyes, while the building pressure in his skull informed him that his persistent headache would become a migraine within the hour. The additional exhaustion was almost enough to break his concentration, but he’d been working on this for months now; and with just a few minutes left to its completion, the perfectionist in him sharpened his focus to a razor’s edge. 

He was glad for the foresight that had allowed him to start his enchantments this early. With tensions rising at the border, he was sure he’d be called out for support in a matter of days. He had to be sure his new experiments were protected. He knew DeRogna in particular would love to get her claws on his research.

Implanting the residuum had already proven to focus his students’ magic in the short time since the procedures. And once they’ve recovered fully, it should lessen the physical strain enough that he could begin to decode the unique arcane qualities of their enemies in Xhorhas.

At least there was that. If Trent had to waste his time brushing those savage insects back to their side of the border, at least he could observe their only intelligent qualities in person, instead of merely reading the descriptions in military reports. 

If he could unlock the secrets to their magic, the three current candidates could be the first in a new and improved line of Volstrucker. Though even without, these three were his most promising candidates yet. 

Eodwulf had seemed to be taking a bit of pleasure in the executions as of late. He’d always proven to be the most ruthless of the three. Trent had also observed that his strong build often allowed his classmates to forget that a brain exists beneath the muscle. 

Astrid’s silver tongue was proving useful as well. He’d taken to bringing her along to a few interrogations in recent months. She played the part of a sweet naïve apprentice well in front of others. He even bought the ruse a few times at first, only to be reminded of the cold, almost serpentine ability to deliver the killing blow when it was least expected.

And of course, there was Bren. The boy hadn’t been particularly vicious when they met; no, what caught Trent’s eye was the raw magical talent he displayed after only weeks of training with the Academy. He had such an eagerness to learn anything and everything he was presented with, as well as an enthusiastic sense of patriotism. Trent need only wrap his intentions in the banner of the Empire, and Bren is molded into whatever shape he desires.

Tell him a man is guilty of treason, and the boy gladly becomes his executioner.

The light dimmed finally with the completion of his enchantments, and he took a moment to admire the fruits of his labors. With these pendants, Trent could be sure his star pupils would be safe from any prying eyes foolish enough to take advantage of his absence. 

Then, as if on cue, he felt the distinct resonance of a failed divination spell in the room. There was the uncomfortable lingering feeling of an invisible eye watching his back for only a moment before being kept at bay by his own protective charm.

He could almost laugh at the irony. And he would have, if he knew who would have cast it. Anyone who thought it worth the spell to spy on him would have already known he was warded against it. 

Trent placed each of the three pendants in individual boxes. He’d planned on presenting his students with them just before he left. With any luck, he wouldn’t be called away and been able to wait until after their final trials, as he always had. But with someone attempting to pry into his personal studies, he thought it best to offer them as gifts in the morning. 

Satisfied, Trent retired to his bed to sleep off the pounding in his skull, looking forward to the next day’s experiments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does contain some pretty graphic descriptions. I go into a bit of detail concerning Mr. Icky's graduation test. Soooooo, this is your warning.
> 
> If you don't like family BBQs, you might wanna just skim the last bit.

Bren stared at the dark ceiling of his room, trying to count the wooden planks without seeing them. He had tried sheep earlier, but gave up once he hit the hundred-thousands. So he laid on his thin mattress and tried to find a way to force his brain to wander off into dreams instead of memorizing the grain pattern of every bit of wood in his sight. 

Apparently, there would be none of that tonight.

His dreams were rarely in color. Not that he minded it very much. His daily life was full of studies and spells and friends; and of course, there was always what Master Ikithon required of him, which was rarely pleasant. But he was assured daily that it was necessary for the good of the Empire. And with his teacher’s new experiments with the crystalized residuum added to the mix, Bren found himself with less and less downtime.

Sleep had become a brief escape. He most often dreamed of cool night air on his skin, and shimmering silver pinpricks of stars in the dark sky. If he ever did see in color, it was always only a single object. Like a book of faerie tales carefully bound in golden leather. Or the warm glow of a candle flickering over a dark wooden desk, polished to reflect the dancing flame. 

And sometimes, he dreamed of a rose; deep red with golden lacing around the delicate petals. It was beautiful. But for whatever reason, its existence felt hateful and violent. Whenever he saw it, the back of his throat burned, like he was going to be sick.

The rose had become a rather frequent visitor to his dreams in recent months. And no matter how many times he saw it, the flower sickened him to the core. It had gotten to the point that even passing by a flower shop in the city made him slightly nauseous. 

Sleep had been more and more difficult to find each night, and now it eluded him entirely. Frumpkin nuzzled against him and gave a bone-deep purr, trying to sooth him to sleep. Bren scratched his familiar’s ears in thanks, but nothing was working tonight.

Giving up, he lit a candle next to his bed with a cantrip and carried it to his desk. Frumpkin wrapped around his neck in his usual scarf positon while Bren opened his spell book and continued his studies. He knew the miserable morning that awaited him without rest, but at the moment, he didn’t particularly care. Exams for the end of the term were coming soon too. And afterwards, Master Ikithon had promised a visit home until the next term began. 

He hadn’t spoken in person with his Mother and Father since he’d arrived at the Academy almost two years ago now. They sent letters, of course, but it was nothing like talking in the same room. He could introduce them to Frumpkin. He knew how his Mother had always adored his old cat. Even if she called him a pest when he tripped her up while she cooked.

Father was scheduled for some leave from the military at the time of his visit as well. It had been far too long since they’d all been in the same room together. Bren wondered if he should pick up the ingredients for the _lebkuchen_ before he leaves. He had some extra coin, and he was sure he could find a few ingredients of a better quality here in Rexxentrum. Although he doubted he could find any better almonds than the ones they always got from Old Man Meyer in the marketplace.

Thinking about his home in Blumenthal actually had him yawning. And soon, he was passed out on top of his spell book, with Frumpkin warming his neck.

### 

The next few months were filled with nothing but limitless frustrations and dead-end research. The blooms on Essek’s arms pulsed and burned every few days, and he had more than a couple close calls hiding the silver glow beneath his robes.

He had attempted to scry on his soulmate again, remembering to cast a Comprehend Language spell beforehand so he might pick up on some conversation this time. But upon finding his target, the spell fizzled out. Just as it had when he was searching for the older man. At first he thought perhaps the boy was standing in the range of his protection, and the sensor was destroyed before it could reach him. But after casting and losing the spell for the fifth time, Essek knew his soulmate must be warded from his divination magic as well. 

He still had reservations as to whether or not the boy even wanted his help. But Essek couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense that _something_ was wrong. Of course magically driving a hundred crystal shards into teenagers’ arms could hardly be considered _right_ , but it was more than that; like this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that whatever his soulmate had gotten himself into, he would soon find himself in over his head. 

It hadn’t taken him long to ascertain his location as the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum. And wasn’t that just perfect. Of course the boy couldn’t be on the other side of the world where he could transport himself with minimal political complications. He had to be in the absolute best, and well-guarded, school for the arcane, in the capital city of the Dwendalian Empire, with whom his own country was almost constantly tip-toeing the line between war and begrudgingly avoiding each other.

In any case, the boy’s location was the least of his concerns. If Essek was going to dig him out of whatever grave he’d made for himself, he needed to know the details. But after months of almost nonstop research, all he’d gathered was that his soulmate was a part of a strange experiment involving some sort of magical Residuum as a focus, and that these experiments were headed by a mage called Trent Ikithon. 

The name had only come to him through luck while doing his usual work. Shortly after his scrying attempts had failed, a struggle had broken out just east of the Empire city, Nogvurot. And while he had not been called to the battle, he’d been in communication with one of the officers in charge in the moment the Empire’s mages had launched a surprise attack on the company.

It was only by pure coincidence the enchanted mirror was turned at just the right angle before it fell to see the unforgettable face of that old man. Essek doubted he could have cast Comprehend Language any faster than he had in that moment, and he managed to hear a companion refer to him as _“Ikithon”_. It only took about an hour of digging to find his first name as well.

It had been a breakthrough, and it had been the only one. Any and every other possible lead on the residuum or their experiments were dead ends. Nothing about the origins of the residuum in Whitestone had yielded anything useful. And the Mage, Trent Ikithon, was as impossible to find in his research as he was in his divinations. 

If Essek had any chance of knowing what his intentions were with these experiments, he had to watch them. And the only way to do that was to somehow get around their protection.

He poured through every book on Arcane Theory and Divinations he could find, both in his own study, and in the Marble Tomes Conservatory. He searched endlessly for anything from dispelling the warding enchantments, to focusing and amplifying his scrying abilities to be able to break through them. 

He rested only when absolutely necessary, and despite the siren calls of promised dreams from his bed, he couldn’t waste time on sleep. Even the four hours required for a half-decent trance were, in his opinion, far too much time spent away from his study. Then, finally, he found something. It wasn’t much. Not even a solid lead, merely the hint of a theory.

But it was something. After months of no progress… at least this was _something_

He hadn’t rested for days. Essek’s brain buzzed and ached from the exhaustion, but he was _so close_. If he could just find the rest of this theory, just work through the fog in his mind to find and solve the arcane formulas…

If he could…

Just…

He was _so… close…_

His leaden eyelids fell heavily closed as the exhaustion finally took over, and he collapsed on the table. 

The dream came to his mind, uninhibited. It was the house again, now lit by the silver moonlight, rather than the usual golden sun. Essek could see the white flowers in a box outside the window. A gentle scent of Chamomile reached his nose, and a light breeze chilled the back of his neck. 

Something large blocked the front door to the home.

_A cart?_

Just as he had the presence of mind to wonder why it could possibly be there, he felt heat in his palms, and there was a bright orange glow as his soulmate’s arms, still bandaged and recovering, extended in front of him. 

Essek watched in horror as the spell was released, and the wood paneling darkened before the flames caught and started to burn. Only a few moments passed before he heard a woman’s voice shout in alarm, followed closely by a man’s. Another moment passed, and he could hear them begin to scream. 

The couple’s cries grew louder as they changed from fear to pain. His vision blurred. Blood roared in his ears until it was the only thing he could hear besides the screams. The scent of chamomile was long replaced by the smoke, and soon, there was only the stench of burnt flesh. The air in his lungs felt foul. He gagged, choking on it.

The shrieks were still there, clear as a bell.

Essek clawed his way back to consciousness and fell to his knees, gasping for air. He retched on the floor, and felt tears flowing uncontrollably. His heart raced in his chest, and bile scorched the back of his throat.

Pain exploded in his vision as he felt something strike the back of his head. When he opened his eyes, he could see the house in flames once again, though he knew he was still awake. The two other students stood in front of him. One, a girl with short, dark brown hair, looked sympathetically to him with her arms raised. Her lips were moving, but her voice was lost among the roaring flames and the pounding in his skull.

The other boy, tall, and built, charged him.

Essek blinked and was in the library again, though the flames still roared in his ears. Something hard hit his stomach and he doubled over in pain as he retched again from the blow.

The house again. The screams were gone. _Why were they gone?_ The bandaged arm raised itself again against the other students. The boy ran, but the girl just stood there as the spell released again.

Essek was knocked to the side, feeling his jaw struck by an invisible attack.

The girl was screaming now, curled up on the ground. The skin on her neck bubbled from the heat.

The boy was on top of him. A hard blow came down on his head, and –

The nightmare stopped.

The pain stopped.

Everything stopped.

Essek lay prone on the library floor with the deafening silence. After what felt like an eternity, he sat up gingerly, expecting to be sore. 

But he felt nothing. 

He righted the books knocked over in his fall and with a wave of his hand, cast Prestidigitation to clean the floor. He almost was sick again on the way home, trying not to call attention to himself as he raced through the streets.

He stood in front of a mirror at home, finding new blooms where he felt like he’d been hit. 

Violets and posies framed his chin and one eye, and his stomach looked like a field of them. He was relieved, however, to find no roses anywhere among them.

Any calm he felt in that moment was short-lived as the gravity of what he’s just witnessed struck him. The house that he’d seen remembered so fondly in flames. The voices he’d heard laughing a few short months ago, using their dying breaths to cry out in pain. Memories of freshly baked bread, replaced by the stink of burning flesh. The same friends Essek had watched laughing with him, now attacking, or being attacked.

_What did I miss?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little longer to get out. 
> 
> Since we're starting to get into the good stuff (especially once we get into Caleb territory) I'm going to try to make the chapters a bit longer for you guys, so it might be taking me more than a week to write. 
> 
> Can't wait to get more out for you all. I'm having a lot of fun with this series!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait. I've been trying to make longer chapters for you all, but my work schedule has been pretty demanding, and I can only stay up until 4 am so many times a week.
> 
> This is actually the first half of what I've been writing all this time. I felt it worked better on its own, even if it is a bit shorter. 
> 
> Good news is, I'm almost done with the rest of it, so the next chapter should come a LOT sooner than this one.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Nightmares of blistering heat and painful screams were interrupted the next morning by fingernails clawing at his ears, and Essek had never been more relieved to find blooms of sweet peas around his face. He felt the lingering soreness from the other blooms, and almost laughed. 

He was alive.

The euphoria died down as Essek took in the assortment of flowers that nearly covered his body and most of his face. For the first time, he understood his mother’s stoic reactions to her own blooms. This connection he had with the boy mocked his helplessness. Somewhere, his soulmate lay beaten, bruised, and alone. And here he was standing in front of a mirror, looking like a damned garden.

He wasn’t quite sure what possessed him to do it, but the next thing he knew, he held a small knife in one hand, and as gently as he could manage, cut into the skin on his left palm. He wrote, in Common, the briefest reassurance he could think of. Just a single word.

_here_

When he finished, Essek washed his blood from the knife and went in search of something to dress the wound. Then, he stopped. A faint hum he hadn’t noticed in the back of his mind faded for a moment, and he felt the press of a thumb in his hand under the stinging cuts. It was only for a second, but in that small breath of time, the hundreds of miles of distance between them vanished. Essek and his soulmate occupied the same small room, offering comfort for each other’s wounds.

Too soon, the moment ended. The hum in the back of his mind resumed, and he was alone again. Though this felt distinctly different from his usual solitude. The pressure in his palm had disappeared, but he could still feel the faint echo of it connecting the two of them. He could almost imagine a tether emerging from his hand and stretching to the boy on the other side. 

Whatever Trent had done, it had broken him; Essek understood that much. And what happened as a result shattered whatever pieces remained. But for all his talents with the arcane, he had no way to put them back together. 

This shouldn’t have happened. He could have prevented all of it. He _should_ have prevented it. He should have pulled him out sooner; should have trusted his instincts. Hadn’t he known this was coming? 

_Of course I knew._ He was scowling now. _I only thought I had more time._

Months of no sleep so he could instead spend time researching. Trying to find a way to watch over him, while he willfully ignored the only connection he’d had left. Months he’d wasted chasing various possible weak points to magic he knew very little about. Months he could have spent doing something, _anything_ remotely productive.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the throbbing behind his eyes. The hum, which had been growing in intensity, was now a ringing in his ears, and fingernails dug in to his skull again. Essek could almost feel hot streams of blood rushing to the wounds as his soulmate broke the skin. Even the dim light in his room was blinding now, and he realized he was on the floor, clutching his head as if it were going to split apart.

He screwed his eyes shut and the ringing turned to screams. Flames danced in his vision while smoke filled his lungs, and he saw the house as clearly as he had the night before. Essek pressed his thumb into his left palm until the cuts were bleeding again, calling out to his other half.

 _Here._ He pleaded silently. _Keep your mind here._

The screams quieted, the scratching slowed, then stopped, and the stabbing pain that pierced his brain with every heartbeat dulled as he felt a trembling hand squeeze his in response.

His soulmate’s mind was broken. He was afraid and in pain. And whatever part Essek had played in putting him there, or failing to protect him from it, or whatever the case may be, he couldn’t afford to care any longer. They were in it together now. Every scrape and bruise shared between them, every flaming nightmare haunting their memories, every scream that echoes through their brains. Essek would be his anchor. And if he couldn’t put the pieces back together, then maybe he could keep them from breaking in the first place.

Healing magic eluded him.

But time was Essek’s specialty.

### 

Dunamancy dealt with the relationship between time, gravity, and the realm of possibility. Spells that allowed one to pluck a specific outcome from those realms were complicated, but proven possible. If he could only use that magic retroactively to alter the course of events, he could intercept the boy before that repulsive man could get his claws into him.

Weeks became months became years became a decade. Essek’s magical capabilities grew stronger and more precise with every spell he mastered. His migraines were frequent at first, but he learned to see them coming soon enough. Some he could prevent with a press of his thumb to his palm. Others he rode out in the dark solitude of his study. Occasionally, he’d feel a gentle squeeze on his hand from the boy reaching out, and he’d respond with one of his own. 

Scrying on him was just as futile as it had been before. So Essek only ever joined him in his dreams. Screaming and flames were a frequent nightmare. Though it was more an impression than the actual memories. Rather than witnessing the arson first hand, he would sometimes see it from a side perspective, sometimes from inside the house, and most recently, with no house at all. Just flames surrounding him in his own personal Hell.

He would wake up in the dead of night gasping desperately for a breath of clean air. Sometimes his throat would be raw, either from the smoke or crying out in his sleep, he wasn’t sure which. He tortured himself like this for a month before the dreams became too much for him. He switched back to his four hour trance to rest, and slept for only an hour every day to keep tabs on his soulmate’s well-being.

The blooms became less and less frequent. There were even some days Essek could go outside without an illusory spell hiding the flowers tattooed on his skin. The only bloom that never faded was the Baby’s Breath on his arms. But those could be hidden away easily under his cloak.

He grew accustomed to the constant buzzing in his head. It would come and go in waves sometimes. One day he might not feel anything more than a mild hum. The next he would feel numb down to his neck. When it got really bad, he could barely see or hear. Those were the days he knew to stay in the dark, clutching his hands together and waiting to feel the knives in his temples.

It was some time during the eleventh year. He had been questioning some imperial spy that had been unfortunate enough to be caught relaying military intelligence to the Ashguard Garrison. It had been a rather intense day as far as his mental state, but he’d locked himself in his study for the past three days, and if he didn’t get any work done soon, he’d have to come up with a better excuse for his absences than “in depth research” or “checking in on military movements on the other side of the border”.

The information he’d received from this prisoner had been satisfactory enough it could earn him an afternoon of solitude. He was just on his way to report the information to the Dusk Captain when the intense droning buzz was silenced. Essek slowed his pace, and squeezed his hand to check in on his soulmate. 

When no response came, he stopped dead in his tracks and pressed harder into his palm.

He waited.

No response.

He turned on his heel and made his way home as quickly as he could without drawing much attention. Quana would have to read his report in the morning. Finally arriving at his front door, he locked it behind him and flew up the stairs to his bedroom, pressing into his palm and silently panicking all the way there. 

The last time he’d lost connection this completely was after the fire, when that taller boy had knocked him out. But that had been violent, and Essek had felt every blow. There had been nothing today. Not even a single scratch. The only thing left was to dream. So he closed his eyes and willed himself to drift off.

Essek awoke the next morning, having dreamt of nothing but a black void. For the first time in years, he felt the crushing weight of his isolation. He sat numbly in his bed. Once it was his portal. First to the rolling fields and a loving family, and towers that surrounded him with friends and books. Then it was a portal to Hell. It turned every good dream into a nightmare. And now, it was nothing. 

He could feel ice crawling up his arms and legs, seeping into his skin. It settled in his chest and the icy calm cleared his mind completely. His plan was the same. He would harness the realm of possibilities and bend reality to his whim. He would mold fate to shield his soulmate from every possibility that would leave him broken.

And Trent Ikithon would suffer every possibility that fate could supply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone so much for all the feedback I got on the last chapter I posted. I really love hearing from you all.
> 
> And in some other news, WE'VE GOT [FANART!](https://7seasalcyon.tumblr.com/post/623323515558543360/essek-fanart-based-on-the-fanfiction-story-in)
> 
> Huge thanks to Halkyon_Blade for making it and letting me see! I was so happy to get it!
> 
> Anyways, here's another chapter! Enjoy!

The first name he thought of was Leo. For his father. It spilled out his mouth before he could think better of it, and by then, it was too late. The Tavern Keep had already written it in the ledger. He was only grateful he’d stopped before speaking the full name. Still, he would be too easy to track this way. They would find him.

_**H̡͔͍͆̾͝i̦͔̫͝͠d̠̞̺͛̾͝e̙͇̝͐̈́.̢̟͚̔̓ H̞̝̼̓̽͘a͇̠͕̒̐v̡̻̺͑͌͠e̦̝̙͌̈́͆ ẗ͔͍́͆̈́͜o̪͓̟͊͋͊ h͔̼͆͆͒i̞̦͐͑̈́d̙͚̫̈́͘͝e͔̻͌̿̽.̢͚̒͘͠** _

He tried Finn Eckard next. That one lasted him about a week before he could afford to move on. People were starting to take notice of him in town.

_**N̼̪͆̒̔͜e̻͉̙͊͐͠e̡̡̪͊͝͝d̟͖͛͐͝ t̢͙͛͜o̢̙̺̿̓̿ r̞̙̺͛͛̈́u̢͍͉͐̓̚n̝͉͚̈́͘͝.̢͔̈́͑͜͝ A̺͓̒̒͜l͉̙͖͝͠w̘̻̻̚a͖̙̼͑̓͝y̪̺̘͊͌̓s͚͖͎͆̕͝ r͎̦͎͒̈́̐u̝͚͌͋͘͜n͔͚̟̒̈́.̢̘̻̿̈́̈́** _

He slept in a different pile of hay every night. He followed roads to settlement after settlement, mostly through the forest path heading northwest. Sometimes travelling with a small caravan that doesn’t appear to have anything of value, and sometimes just walking for miles each day to get to the next stop, changing his name for each one he came across. 

Emil was next on the list, but the subject of his name hadn’t even come up when Bren ordered his food, which he now just pushed around on his plate. It looked disgusting, but it was all he could buy for two copper. He’d pick pockets in the tavern if it was crowded enough, and if the person was passed out drunk. But this place was a ghost town. The only patron that looked drunk enough to rob was a tall elven man with a long scar that split his face diagonally. Not someone he wanted to fight if he were discovered.

Best to just get away to the next town while he could.

_**A͙͙̺̓̔̓ẅ͎̟͇́͑͘a͖͍̽͊̚y̙͍̓̿͑.̠͖̓͊͋͜ G̢͇̟̓͌͐e̘̫͙͛̈́͒t̞͍̻͊̾͘ a͚͖͋͐͊͜w̙͓̼̽̔̕a̡̞͕̒̽͘y̢͕͔͘͘.̘͖̠͛͝** _

It was almost winter. And this inn was the only one for miles. 

_**A̷̫͔̫͍͇͉̓w̷̡̞͔͎̓͜͝a̷͍̘̠̞͕̾͜͝y̷̦̺̫̼͚̙̒̾̚.̷̼̟̫͉̙̐͜͠ G̷͎̦͖̻͎̝͑̽̈́e̷̢̦͚̙͎̼̐̚t̷̪͍̙̫͍̓̈́͜ a̷͇͉̼̘̟͒̒w̷͖̞̻̘͙̦͒a̷͇̟̻̼̫͎͌̽y̷͎͉̠̻͔͍̾̕͝.̷̡̙̘̼̼͛̓͝** _

He needed a horse.

Bren stood and left the coin on the table. Pulling up the hood on his thin coat, he left the inn and headed to its stables out back. There was only one animal inside, munching on some grain. None of her tack had been removed, so her owner could be back any second. Bren took the horse’s reigns and tried to lead her away from the bucket of grain, but she wouldn’t budge. He pushed on her chest and pulled at her reigns, to no avail.

“ _Scheisse._ ”

“Don’t you know not to interrupt a woman when she’s eating?” Said a voice from behind him. He spun around and saw the scarred, elven man leaning up against the door frame, looking amused.

_**R̡̪͓̪̙̽̈́̚͜͝͠U͖͉͕̠͖̒̐̈́̿͝N͙͓͍̝͖̦̒͌̾͠͠.̢͍͔̝͖̈́͛̓̽̔͘͜** _

He bolted for the door, but the man blocked his exit and caught him by the arm.

“Whoa, easy there, Pal, I didn’t…” His words faded as Bren’s thoughts raced.

_**l͐̈́̚e͑͒̚t̒͋̚ g͋͒̈́o̔̕͝ l̡̢̦͇͕͎͐̈́̚e̡̦̠͕̠̠͑͒̚t͔͇͎̻̠͙̒͋̚ g͚͍̟͕͉͋͒̈́͜o͚̝̝̪̙̫̔̕͝ L̵͓̪̞̺̻͓͌͝ë̸͖̘͚̞̠̻́͋T̴̠͍̠̘̼͇̔͝ g̵͇̘̙̼͙͚̓̔͛Ö̸͙̻̻̺̝́͌̿ L̵̸̢͇̝͔̝̠͆͒̔̒͠͝E̸̸͇̫̞͐̐͋̕͜͜T̵̸̢̫̫̫͕̙̈́̿͌̒͘ G̵̴̢͉̻̟̼͙͊͌̈́̕̚͝O̵̴̝͖̦̦̙͛̈́͊̽͛͊ L̸̵̴̸̵̸̡̡̢̢͇̞̪̠̻̘̦̝͍̦͕̫͎̞̘͕͐͋͌͛̒̓͒̈́͊͊̈́̾͘̕͘͘ E̸̸̸̴̸̵̻̫̝̪̺̙͉͙̪̟̞̺̫̻͕̺̫̻̫͑̈́̿̈́͌͒̽̒̓͛͘̚̕̕͝ T̵̴̵̵̵̴̡͉̙̫̫͕͖̼̟͉̝̘͓͉͍̞͙͖̪͓̿͛͋͌͋͒͋͒̽̽͋̽͑͛̿͜͠ G̸̴̵̸̸̵̟̞͇̠̼͕͎̞͔͖̘͇̪̪͉̻̠̞̈́̈́̓̈́̽̐͒̈́͆̔͛͐̕͘͜͜͠ O̴̴̸̸̵̵̢̟̫͚̫͎̝̙̝̺̝͚͍̘̞̘͎̝͎̺͐̈́̒̈́̐̓̒̽͑̕͘͠͠** _

He began to whisper the incantation for a Firebolt, but as soon as he felt the warmth in his palms, he felt sick. He went almost limp as he concentrated on not emptying the contents of his already vacant stomach on to the floor. When the man saw he could no longer run away, he loosened his grip and leaned Bren against a wall.

“I know Mel’s cooking isn’t great, but it’s not so bad you’ve gotta run for the hills, especially with my horse.” Bren wanted to bolt again right there, but his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive to him. The man must have seen him twitch, because he moved to again be between him and his escape. “You don’t wanna leave town right now anyway. Snow storms gonna hit any minute. Probably turn into a blizzard too, with the wind speed its got. You got any more coin?”

Bren shook his head dumbly. He wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. Snow had been falling gently for two days, but there had been no sign of any change that he’d seen. He’d experienced colder winters during his training with- .̴̘͓̈́̓̈́ "̸͕̼̪͆͌͠ -̴͕̠̠̈́̔̈́=̴̟̟̐͋̓*̵̦͍͓̈́̾̾*̴̡͕͆̔͝

“Well, then, you won’t be able to stay here.” The man whistled and his horse walked happily over to nuzzle against him. “You’ll stay with me. I’m just a couple blocks up the road.” He jumped effortlessly onto his mount and held out a hand to him. Bren sat for another minute, staring at him. Then, he found his way to his feet, and reluctantly took the patiently waiting hand. He was too tired, cold and confused to refuse it.

He was pulled up to sit behind the man, who continued the conversation.

“I’m Caden, by the way. And what can I call you?”

“Br-” _**.̴̼̦̘̓/̴̻̞̠͆̓͑"̴̠̫͙̈́͋-̸̼̝͉̔͝=̵͉͎̺͐͆*̵͍͉͕̐͐̔*̵͚͎̞̒͝͠/̴͓͖̺̔͆/̴͉̝͓̓̈́̕/̵̙͇͚͑͛͘-̸͚͙͎̾͐̐*̸̢͍̟̚̕̚-̸̙̦̙͌̓̓*̴̫͚͛̔̓-̴̢̠͙̾̓͒,̵̝͖͋̾͜͝,̵̫̺̻͑͒"̵̝̙̔͝"̸͕͇͇̽̒:̴͎̻̫͛̓̿**_ “Byron,” he corrected. “Emil Byron.”

This was dangerous. Bren had felt off balance from the moment this man, Caden, apparently, surprised him. Was that really all it took for him to slip up? 

_**M̴̢̢͓̈́͛͘o̴̫͉͔͑͛͠v̸̢̼͒͋̒i̴̡͖̟͋͌͝n̴̟̘̺̓͠g̸͕̪̈́̓.̵̢̼͒͑̚͜ K̸͔̫̓̕̕͜e̴̺̞̿̕̚e̵̡͇̝̓͒͋p̸̡̘͔̓̈́͊ M̴̢̢̒͜͝o̸̢͚̙͐̈́v̸̦̝̔͛͘i̸͍͕͑͆͊n̴̝̦̝͘͘g̴̡̫̺͊͆̈́.̵͔̦̙̓̚͠** _

That’s right. He just had to keep moving. Leave before this man told anyone about the suspicious stranger who tried to steal his horse. As soon as this Caden turned his back, he would make a run for it.

_**R̴͇͖̝̔͑͠u̸̡̦̘̓̒͘n̵͓̙͉̽̒͠n̵͖͎͒̿̕͜i̴͔͖̕͘̕n̵͍̼̺̔͆̓g̸̻͚͕̓̓.̸͖͙͊͊͜ A̸̼͕͕̽̓l̸̠̻͔̔͌͛w̴͍̠̘̒̕͝ä̸͓̻̺́͛͝y̵͓͉͎͐̓̕s̴̘͓̼̓̐ r̸̡̫̽u̸͖͚͖̔͘̕n̴̻̞̪͛͝͠n̵̢̻͔̈́͊i̴̡̼͉͛͊̓n̴̡̫̺͌̈́̔g̴͉͉̻͐͐̾.̵͓̻̟͊͊͠** _

“Well, Emil,” Caden said, breaking into his thoughts, “Allow me to welcome you to Nord Kysten.”

### 

He must still be crazy. It was the only explanation he could think of. Why else would he be sitting in this pile of cushions and blankets his new “Pal” insisted was a couch, drinking bad ale, and watching him run around what might be a kitchen beneath all the pots and pans piled high to the ceiling, and the fine dusting of flour on every surface. 

The wind was howling outside. Apparently, his host had been correct about the blizzard, effectively cutting off his escape once again. He’d just have to wait for it to pass before getting out of town. Preferably with that horse.

He was distracted from his thoughts as the aroma of roasting pork filled his nose, and his stomach growled. It’d been weeks since he’d had any meat at all, let alone anything bigger than a squirrel. Bren closed his eyes and breathed in the delicious smell. 

He could get used to this, actually. He was comfortable, warm, safe, even. He allowed himself a moment of calm, and the tension and stress he had grown so accustomed to in recent months washed away from him. It was a relief. When was the last time he felt like this? It had to be years. More than a decade, at least. 

A kettle sitting over the fire started a low whistle. It seemed his host was making some tea as well.

Maybe he could stay a _little_ longer. After all, he hadn’t seen a Crowns Guard in weeks. In fact, he hadn’t seen much law enforcement of any kind in the sleepy little town since he got here. Maybe that should be a bit unnerving, but it only made him relax further into the cushions.

The kettle’s whistle built slowly to a scream, growing steadily in volume, and pitch. The noise made his ears ring. His eyes already closed, he squeezed them tighter together, trying to ward off the sound.

The skin on his face felt hot.

His hands burned.

He tasted ash.

Suddenly, there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him back to reality. The sympathy he saw in Caden’s expression vanished so quickly, Bren thought he might have imagined it. All he saw now was the same amused grin he’d worn when he practically abducted him to his home.

“Well, if it tasted _that_ bad, I’m glad I made tea.” He laughed, and reached for the cup. Not taking it from him yet, only offering.

Bren looked down. He hadn’t noticed how tightly he’d been clutching it. Forcing himself to loosen his grip, he took the offer, trying to hide his shaking hands when he let go. Caden, who was either oblivious, or pretended to be, walked back to the kitchen and poured the hot water into two more cups. 

“Apologies.” Bren said, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice. “Just realizing how hungry I am.”

“I’ll bet. You hardly touched your plate at Mel’s. Not that I can really blame you. The Mead’s about the only thing of his that’s really any good.”

“You were watching me?”

“It was difficult not to.” Bren raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. You walk around in this weather dressed like that, you’re going to draw attention.” 

He looked down at the rags he called clothes. They were torn, filthy and thin. “I am a bit, ah… financially disadvantaged at the moment.”

“Well if you’re planning on going anywhere, you won’t get far with those.” 

The man was right. He’d left Vergesson months ago, in summer. And the path he was following took him through the Pearlbow, where trees blocked most of the wind chill. Now, winter would be setting in soon, and he lacked the cover of the forest. No, he wouldn’t last very long at all, especially with storms like these coming out of nowhere.

“You know,” Caden continued thoughtfully, “If you’re that strapped for coin, I could use a bit of help. I own a bakery down the road from the tavern. Nord Kysten’s a small town, but I still get pretty busy this time of year. I can’t pay much, but you’d be able to afford some decent winter gear in a few weeks. You could even stay here while you save up, if you want.” 

_**H̵̫͖̾͌͝a̸̡̪̟͑v̸̢̺̠̈́͑͝e̸͎͖͎̿̿̾ t̸͉̠͍̔͠͝o̸͍̘̾̓ l̸̘͙̦̽̈́e̸̠͍͚̔̈́̔a̸͚͓̝͐͘͝v̴̢̢͔͌̚e̴̠̟̝̓͌̓.̸̡̙͖͆̽̕ F̴̢̞͎̓͒͝a̵͚͉̾͝r̸͖͉̘̈́͋ a̴̞͙͕̐̕ẅ̸̪͇͍́a̸̢̞̐̕y̵͙̼͎͛̓͘.̴̟̦͍͑̽ K̸͖͉͎̒͒e̴͔͇̟̓̾e̵͇̼͓̐͆p̵͓͓̔̐ m̴̻̟͉̈́̓͠o̸͙͓̪̓̾̈́v̴̙͔͎̚͝i̸͔̒͌͆͜n̴̢͚͑̈́g̴̞̼͓͛͐̿.̵̟̞͍̚̚͝ A̴͎̞͇͆̓̈́l̵͓͍͓͋̓͛w̴̦̪̽̓͜a̵̦̟͙͒͒͝y̵͉̞̟̕͝s̵͖̪̪͆̈́ m̴̼͉̘̒̓͘o̴̪̦͐̈́͜͝v̵͖͖͚͋̽͘i̸̠͍̟̿̔͆n̵̞͇̺̔͊g̸̞͇̦͑̽͛.̴͚̠͛̽̈́͜** _

Outside, the wind was howling. Every so often, a strong gust would make the front door shake and buckle in its frame. His fingers found the frayed edge of his thin cloak. If he’d been caught out in that storm, could he have survived that? Could he last though the night? To the next town?

No.

Not like this.

Every instinct he had wanted him to leave as soon as possible. But what was the point of escaping if it only meant he froze to death instead?

He needed supplies desperately. And a shopkeep is far more likely to remember the face of a fugitive stealing his wares than a traveler purchasing them.

In the end, it was really the only choice he had.

“If it wouldn’t be an inconvenience to-“

“Perfect.” Caden interrupted him. “The worst of this storm should be over by noon tomorrow, so we can head right over.”

Maybe he _should_ just steal the supplies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we'll get back to Essek soon, guys. 
> 
> But for now, here's some more Bren.

Bren Aldric Ermendrud had always considered himself an intelligent man.

He had a mind for numbers, and prided himself in his ability to calculate nearly everything in his life with precise measurements; whether it be knowing the time of day down to the second, or always sensing which way was north as if he were a human compass. In school, his teachers praised him because he could always measure out the exact quantity he needed for certain magical or alchemical components in seconds without wasting so much as a speck in excess.

And yet, in the span of a single afternoon, numbers and science abandon him for what can only be described as magics that would put even the oldest members of the Cerberus Assembly out of their depth. 

Or as Caden called it: Baking.

“So now you need a nubbin of yeast.”

“A what?”

“And just a little flicker of salt”

“And that would be-”

“How much flour did we put in?”

“Four cups?”

“We’ll need to add about a scad more.”

“I told you, that is _not_ a unit of measurement!”

Bren collapsed into the chair while Caden finished with the dough. He wondered how much more of this he could take before he had a brain aneurysm. At the very least he was sure another clarification of the difference between ‘smidge’ and ‘smidgeon’ would cause a severe nosebleed.

 _Any more of this and I’ll wind up in another Asylum._ He thought, massaging his temples. Then, Caden’s voice stabbed his ears from across the room.

“Should we get started on those pastries-“

“I’m going to take a walk.” Bren announced, shooting back up from his seat. By the time Caden told him to use his cloak, he’d already put it on and was stepping out the door. Hood up, and with his back to the wind, he trudged forward through the almost knee-deep and growing layer of fresh powder towards… well, he didn’t really know, but almost anywhere was better than here.

The streets were even more barren than the day before. While the worst of the storm had passed, most people, it seemed, were keeping to the warmth of their homes. Understandable, of course, since even with the cloak, the biting cold seeped through the heavy material to his skin. He could see the wisps of smoke rising from chimneys before being quickly carried off by the wind. 

With nothing else of significance to occupy his thoughts, Bren was left to question once again what in the nine hells he was still doing here. His reasoning last night had been that he needed winter gear, and if he could afford to purchase it, he would draw less attention. Everything checked out so far. All perfectly logical. 

He was offered an opportunity to earn funds for said supplies in a relatively brief period of time, somehow managing to have free board at his employer’s home. The man was a decent cook, and didn’t ask questions about his past. He even overlooked the fact that their first meeting was a failed attempt to steal his horse.

Aside from the infuriating process of decoding Caden’s baking vocabulary, Bren had been dealt a winning hand here. Everything was perfect.

He didn’t trust it.

He had considered the thought that he succeeded in escaping over to the next town, been caught in the blizzard, and was slowly freezing to death. But if that were true, he severely doubted his last fleeting hallucinations would be so pleasant. 

So the only conclusion left was that this was, in fact, reality. Albeit a very unlikely one. Something was bound to go wrong, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t it have happened by now? Or maybe the Fates were just waiting for him to get comfortable before pulling the rug out from under him again. He almost wished they’d just get it over with already.

Bren was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice what door he walked through until he was almost met face-to-rump with the familiar horse. The creature eyed him suspiciously, then sniffed at the air, and began to nicker at him. Bren took a cautious step forward and she nudged his chest gently with her nose. Now thoroughly confused, he searched through the borrowed cloak, finding a small pocket in the inner lining. From it, he produced two small, hard clumps of oats and molasses. 

“I suppose these are what you were looking for.” He said, holding them out. The treats were gone from his hand so quickly, Bren had to check to be sure all fingers were present and accounted for. When he was satisfied with the number, he pat her neck and started to turn away.

_**G̵̵̡͙͙̾̔̕e̵̸̡̫͆͑͜t̵̸̫͔̒̚ O̸̵͓͓̘͘̚͘n̸̵̦̻̈́̽͜** _

The thought echoing in his brain stopped him dead in his tracks and he looked back at the horse.

_**G̵̙͙͇̠̐̿̾͜e̵͔̘͓͇̻͕̒̒̒t̵͎̘͙̝͉̺̐̓͝ o̵̞̝͖̪̻̼̓͝n̸̢̞͍͇̙͉͝͠.̵̼̼̺̫͍̽̒͜͝ R̸̝̙̟͙̼̽͜͝u̵͚͖͓̪͍̔̔͜͠n̴̪̘̻̻͍͚͑̒͘.̴̢̡̙͙̫̞̽̒F̵̙͉͖̺͖͍͑̓͝a̴̢̻͚͍͍̦͝͠r̸͓͚̘̦̞̦̓̽͒ a̸̘̦͇̞̘̓̐̕w̴̫͓̫̞͍͌͘͜a̸̡͉͉̘̦͍͐̈́y̸͍͙̙̫͓̔̚͠.̵͉̼͔̻̟̕** _

Logic struggled to cut through the rising panic he felt constricting his lungs. The sound of the storm faded slowly, and he couldn’t tell if the wind was quieting, or if he simply couldn’t hear it over his pulse in his ears. His shortened breath came out as white puffs in the cold air. _I still need supplies._

_**T̵͎͚͓̽͘͝h̵̙͉͇̾̿̈́e̴͙͇͙̿͐ s̴̟̙̼̓͛̚t̵̺͍͙̓̓ö̴̼͔̞́̈́̔r̴͍̠̫̈́͛̕m̸̙͍͑̐ i̴͉͔̟̓̿͠s̸͇͓̓̾̚ d̴̢͇͕̾̒̓ÿ̴̟͉͇́͛̕i̵̡͖̪̒̐͛n̴̞̠̒g̴̙̝͙͆̒͋.̵̫͙̐̐̐ T̸͕̺̙̓̔h̴̼̻̞͌̐͌e̵̼̝̫̓̕ c̸͇͛͋̕͜͜l̵͖̫̘̽͆͘o̴̠͓̫̐̒̈́a̸̫͖̻̓̓̿k̵̢̟͑̕͝ i̴̡̙̻̓͌̚s̴̝̼̙̕͝ w̸̙͍͌̚̕a̵̡̝̻̒̽̓r̴̪̔̈́̓͜͜m̵͓͇̙̓̈́̚ e̵̻̫͕̓̽͘n̴͙̺̿͝o̴̡̠̘͆͆͝u̸͔̘̺̒̿̔g̵̙͙͌͒͜h̴̡̞̦͠͝.̸̼̙͌̽͑** _

_The next town is far._

_**T̵̻͍͔͎͕͔̿̔͝ḧ̸̡̻̻̦͔̝́̕͝e̴̢̡̠͎͙͎̓ h̵̡͙̙̼͇͜͠o̴̼̠͚̘͓̪͊͌̽r̴͇̫͇̠̼͝͝͝s̴͕͙͔͉̫̾͠e̴̢͎͕͇̼͉̐̽ i̴̡͚͇̠̠͐͊̈́͜s̵͇̘͔͔͕͕͌͌͛ f̸̫̠̺͓͆̈́͜͠a̴̼̫͍̫͇͉̓͊͝s̵̞̠͚̠̦̘̓͆ẗ̵̢͎̟͖͓́͛͆.̸̝̫̻͖̈́͜͝** _

_Caden knows my face._

_**L̵̴̡̻͎̦̫̻͐̈́͋̒͘͠e̴̸̡̟̞̻͚̽͊̒̽̕͜a̸̴̢̠͙͍̪͊͊̈́͛̕͜v̵̴̪̟̻̟̻͍͊̈́̈́̾͒͑e̴̴̟̙̙͕͖͇͐͋͐͊͝͠!̵̵̫̞̟͎͇͕͆̿͑͒̓ R̸̴̦̫̦̠̠͍͊͑͊͘̕u̸̴̢͔̫͎̘͑͆̐͊̔͜͝n̵̸̢̫͉̪͉̺͌̈́̿̓̾͘!̴̸͖͔̙͚͓̽͑̐̾̐̕ A̸̴̡̢͇͓̫͙̾͛̾̐̈́͘l̴̴̘̙̺͖͖̺͛͋͋̔͘̕w̸̴̺͉̦͍̘͛͛̾̾͘͜͝a̸̵͚̦̙͖͙̽͛̓͋͒̚y̸̴̡̝͚̺̙̒̈́͝͠s̵̴͓͔͍̻̙̾͐͌͜͝͝ r̸̸̞̪͙͉̼̝̈́̈́̚͘U̸̴͔͕͓͍͖͒̈́͒̓̾͜n̴̸̺̺̻͖͍̪͆͐̓̓̾!̸̴͎͚̻͓̦̪͌͛̒̾͝ b̴̵̝̝͉̦͐̽͋͌͜e̴̵̟̠̫̟̝͉̓͛͌̾͠F̸̸͚͔͍̫̞̒͒̔͊͘͠o̴̴̢̢͍͔̻̦̐̈́͑̒͆͠R̵̸̢̡̼̘͔͖̔̾̔͊̿͠e̴̵͕̺̙̠͎̝̿̒̾͐͘͝ ḯ̴̸̢͕͖̫͉̙̽̒̿t̸̸̢̢̠̼̒͑̿͋͝ G̴̸̡͎̠̠̙̙̈́̐̒̓͛O̵̴̠͓͕͔̘͒͒͑͐̈́͜͝e̸̵̘̫̠͓̼͎͒͆͛͌̈́̚S̵̵̢̞̦̟̦͑͑͛̈́͌͑ w̵̸͍͍̺̫͑͐̽̽͜͝͠R̵̵̞͍͉͔̻̫̿͊̓͌͝Ö̴̴̢̘̦͕̼͇́͒͒̔̿͛n̵̸̻̼̺͇̘͌͊͑̈́̓̕͜G̴̵̢̼͎̘͖̐̓̾͌͘͜!̴̴̪̘͙͖̪͐̿̽͑͜͝** _

### 

Balethorn led his worn-out old horse grumbling to the tavern’s stables. The dwarf wasn’t any happier even in the dying storm’s winds than the animal was, but the stubborn beast refused to be mounted when it was cold like this. So despite the ache it put in his own old bones, he trudged through the almost waist high powder, all the while shooting meaningful glares at the beast, silently, or not so silently telling him to be grateful for all the things he does. 

Walking through the door, the first thing he sees is the boy crouching to the floor and rocking slightly, pressing a thumb into his palm so hard, Balethorn wouldn’t be surprised if it came out the other side. He was mumbling something, though it was far too quiet to hear.

The second thing he noticed was that the boy was wearing his friend’s property. The dwarf whistled out three short chirps and Caden’s mare, Scout, came trotting over gladly through the unlatched stall gate. The boy barely seemed to notice. So Balethorn marched over toward him and picked him up by the collar. He certainly took notice of that as he started flailing about trying to get out of the grip.

As a human, the boy could easily be nearly twice the dwarf’s height, but he seemed to be having trouble getting his feet under him while scrambling to get away. He held his grip firm and spoke in a low growl.

“Now where d’ya think yer goin’ with such a fine cloak as that, Boyo?”

“ _Was?_ ” was the only gasped reply that came before he unhooked the clasp and the boy tumbled out of his grip, scrambling over to the wall. Then, before Balethorn could do anything else, a fist bumped gently against the top of his head.

### 

“Not a very good way to make friends, Bale.” Caden said, lightly tapping the dwarf’s head with a fist. The resulting facial expression would have been laughable, if the man hadn’t sounded ready to snap Bren’s neck only a few seconds earlier.

“Got enough friends. Don’t need to make nice with thievin’ humans.” He scratched at his rusty beard and a few grey streaks peeked out from underneath. Then the dwarf tossed Caden’s cloak up to the scarred elf and put the two horses back into stalls, double checking the latches.

“Of course not.” Caden rolled his eyes. “If you did, people might actually think you’re a good person.” The dwarf only grumbled in response. Then Caden turned back to him. “Sorry, Emil. This is Balethorn Grinsap. Don’t let the growl fool you, he takes more to his name than he’d like you to believe. And Bale,” He turned to address the dwarf. “This is my _guest_ and new employee, Emil Byron.”

Balethorn’s expression immediately changed to one of pity. “Please tell me yer not ropin’ this poor lad into helpin’ you with that place. No wonder he was headin’ for the hills.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Caden asked, passing the cloak back off to Bren. “You ordered six rolls from the shop last week and they were gone before you walked out the door.”

“Don’t get me wrong, yer a fine baker, but ya can’t teach for shite.” 

While the friends bickered, Bren snuck out the door, donning the cloak again. In the short time he was inside, the storm broke, leaving only a gentle snowfall in its wake.

But Bren had other concerns. The debate between his anxieties and logic had left him nearly catatonic until Balethorn had come in to assault him. The attacks were getting more frequent. Before he could stand being in one place for at least a week before moving on. He hadn’t even been here for a day and already he was getting paranoid and twitchy. Both of which were far too noticeable behaviors if he wanted to lay low. He had to wait it out. He would earn just enough coin for warm clothes and a bed roll, maybe even buy his own horse, and then he could leave Nord Kysten and never look back on the sleepy town.

From behind, Caden’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Thief!” He called. _What?_ Bren thought, _I didn’t see anyone._

Confused, he turned to see what was going on. 

What he saw was Caden sprinting at him with surprising speed, while the dwarf was gaining on horseback.

_**R̷̷̵̞̪͉̠̼̫̐̈́̚u̷̷̸̢͍̦͕̟͐͑̈́n̷̷̵͔̝̠̠̼̼̈́̕** _

This time, he didn’t hesitate. Bren’s legs took off out from under him. He ran. He ran as quickly as his spindly limbs could carry him, but he didn’t know why. For once, he had no reason to. He hadn’t taken anything, but his body refused to stop. He turned to see how quickly his pursuers were gaining-

And suddenly he was on the ground.

At first, he thought he’d slipped on a patch of ice. Then he registered the weight on his chest, the hot breath on his face, and the low growl in his ears, as he opened his eyes to see the very large white wolf snarling down at him. Two icy blue eyes stared back hungrily.

“Thief!” The wolf’s head shot up at Caden’s voice. “Off,” he commanded. The wolf looked pitifully at him and gave a little whine. Bren could almost hear it begging. _Just a bite?_

“ _Off._ ” Caden said again in a warning tone. The wolf looked back at him, gave a short snarl, as if to say _this isn’t over,_ and trotted away to sit dejectedly next to the elf, while Bren was left wondering what he did to offend the creature.

_This is why I like cats._

Caden offered a hand to get him back to his feet. “Sorry about that,” He said again.

“Your friends don’t seem to like me very much.” Behind Caden, both Balethorn and the wolf gave near identical growls.

“This is Thief.” He said, placing a hand on the wolf’s head. “My hunting partner. She must have been following you from the bakery. She can be a bit protective.”

“Why Thief?” Bren wondered aloud.

“She used to steal meat from my traps as a pup.” Caden explained with a wry grin at the wolf, who held up her head with pride.

“And ‘cause callin’ her name never fails to get somebody runnin’.” Balethorn added with a grin of his own at Bren. To Thief, he said, “Come on then, you litt’l monster, I’ll get ya a snack.”

“I can bring the coin for it later.” Caden said as he turned away.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s comin’ out of his pay.” He replied, with a head jerk toward Bren. As he started walking off with the horse, Thief plotted off after him.

“My what?” Bren said, utterly lost.

“I need some help ballancin’ my books. You start tomorrow.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Unless, of course you’d rather stay at the bakery?”

With an apologetic glance at Caden, Bren said, “See you tomorrow.”

“Leave Scout at the tavern with Bruner! I’ll bring him by tonight!” Caden called after the dwarf, who just waved his hand dismissively at him.

Bren was entirely unsure of what had happened over the last ten minutes, but at least he wasn’t working at the bakery.

### 

As it turned out, Balethorn ran the Butcher shop on the other side of the town, closer to the forest Bren had come from.

“Closer access to the wild game.” The old dwarf explained. In the shop, he wore his scraggly rust-colored beard in several neat braids that showed the streaks of silver and grey peeking through. He left Bren in what looked like a side office space, so at least he wasn’t subjected to the sounds and smells of his work.

Bren’s work was far more agreeable to his skills than the bakery. He had precise numbers, and no foreign vocabulary to decipher. At the end of the day, he would be dragged along to the tavern and made to pay for the night’s drinks for all of them. But even with the drinks, he was paid just a little more than he would have been at the bakery, so Bren had no complaints. Especially with the company he was keeping. 

Balethorn, for all his grumblings and protests, really was a kind man, if not blunt. And Caden stuck only close enough to be comfortable. Neither one pressured him about his past, and after nearly a month, Bren almost dared to call them his friends.

“That’s a lot of scars ya got there, lad.” Balethorn said, surprising him one day when the side room had gotten a little warm, managing to catch Bren with his sleeves rolled up. Bren’s back went rigid at the comment. Before the panic could set in though, Balethorn waved his hand dismissively. “Bah, we’ve all got ‘em.” He said, coming to the desk and rolling up his sleeve. 

“Before Thief could hunt, Caden dragged me out to hunt with ‘im.” He showed a divot carved out of his forearm. “Wild Boar fought back pretty hard.” Then a spidery white scar over his collar bone. “Elk Bull durin’ matin’ season.” He pulled the collar of his shirt back up where it was. “Never be the diversion if ya can’t run like hell.” He mused.

Bren nodded absently while he hid his arms from view.

“Caden’s got quite a few as well.” He said, drawing his thumb across his face to indicate Caden’s scar. “You know he’s got another one to match? Right on his back. Got it the same day. When he left the Crowns Guard.”

Bren had been just quietly waiting for this one sided conversation to end, but now, he sat up straight, and tense, hanging on the dwarf’s words.

“Actually, he was with a couple of people with tattoos on their arms at the time too. Trackin’ some Xhorhasian spy ‘cross the border. Tracked ‘im all the way to this little town. Then the inked folks started just torchin’ the place with their magic. That man’s a bleedin’ heart, I’ll tell ya. Got blasted in the back shieldin’ a litt’l Dark Elf girl from one of ‘em. Then got himself cut up by her Mother a minute later. Lucky to be alive, I told ‘im when he found me. We left that place, and we’ve been here ever since.” Balethorn eyed him and started to stretch while he turned to leave. 

“Guess the story’s a bit much compared to fallin’ in a wee bramble bush, eh, lad? Finish up soon, yer buying the mead tonight.” And with that, the door shut, and Bren was left alone. 

It was another twenty minutes before he could stop shaking.

### 

The look on the boy’s face confirmed everything Balethorn had suspected. Caden was gonna be pissed when he found out what happened, but he had to know for sure. Over the last month, Emil was slowly lowering his guard, but he never showed his arms past the wrists. Balethorn’d used three times the amount of coal he wanted to, gettin’ the lad to _finally_ roll up his damned sleeves. And Caden’s story left no question.

The poor boy was runnin’, that was always clear. And he was runnin’ from some of the most dangerous people in the Empire.

The poor, cursed boy was runnin’ from Scourgers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time, and I'm so sorry. I've been trying to finish the rest of Bren's story in one chapter, but it's been getting so long. I decided to post some of what I have and continue working on the rest.
> 
> After Bren's story, I promise we'll catch up with what Essek's been up to. And after that I think I'll be done with this title. But not to worry, I want to make this a series. A new title will pick up after a little bit of a time skip, and I've been thinking of doing a side story in the same AU with Beau/Yasha. Or as my friend likes to call them, Crackle Pop!
> 
> I really love writing these, and I'm sorry I haven't been so active. Hoping this long chapter makes it a bit better.

“He’s not ready yet, Bale.” The scarred elf said, careful to keep his volume down so the young man wouldn’t hear him upstairs.

“Whether he’s ready or not is hardly the point anymore.” Balethorn argued. His gravelly voice was spoken as softly as the dwarf could manage, but it carried a bit farther than was comfortable in Caden’s opinion. “You can’t keep holdin’ his hand when soldier’s start turnin’ up lookin’ for ‘im.”

“It won’t be forever. The guard has better things to do than chase one man across the country. They’ll give up eventually, and until then, we can keep Emil hidden.”

“It’s not just the guard, Caden, and you know it. You saw that shady bastard eyein’ him at Mel’s last night.” He was right. The night before, the three had a few drinks at the tavern like usual. Both the dwarf and the elf had noticed the large human man watching their table from the corner of his eye. Balethorn continued, “Scourgers don’t give up a hunt ‘nless they got a damned good reason to.”

“You don’t know it’s-” he started.

“I do, Caden.” Balethorn crossed his arms and watched him stonily. “I told him.” Caden’s protests pulled up short at this news. He didn’t need to ask what his friend was talking about, and he struggled to keep his voice down.

“You had no right.” He growled.

“I know.” The dwarf’s voice was gentler now. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But I needed to know what we were up against, and he wasn’t about to tell me on his own.”

“If you gave him more time-”

“We’re out of time! It’s been nearly two months just since he’s been here, and who knows how long before that. That prick proves they’re out lookin’ for ‘im. He’s got their talents, and if he’s a deserter, or a fugitive, or both, you know as well as I do the Assembly’s not the type to turn the other cheek. If he’s got any information against them they could be sendin’ an army after ‘im!”

Caden’s hands were fists in his lap. He stared silently into the middle distance while Balethorn placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I know he’s not ready. And I know you want to protect ‘im. But if we’re going to do that, we need to know how. Not every detail, just enough to prepare.” Caden said nothing for a long time, then sighed in obvious defeat.

“We’ll take him to the Trapper Shack tomorrow morning for a hunt. Thief can keep the perimeter, and he can speak freely out there without prying eyes.”

“Or ears.”

“Or ears.” Caden agreed.

“Right then,” the dwarf said, standing up, “I’ll get a bag packed for tomorrow. Keep an eye out tonight.”

“You too.” He answered. “See you in the morning.”

From the rafters, a pair of blank white eyes stared down as the scarred elf went about his routines for the night, and finally went to sleep. The small white mouse flashed out of existence, reappearing less than a second later at its master’s side. The pale humanoid creature had been sitting inside, legs crossed in a sort of meditative position.

“Good job, Turro.” Nit’s voice purred while she stood up and stretched her long, featureless limbs. “A Trapper Shack, huh? I wonder if we can find it before my check in.” The pale creature strolled across the room to her pack. Tied securely to a chair, a rotund human with a long beard flinched when she came near.

Nit payed him no mind while she opened the bag and clicked her tongue in frustration. “Not enough charcoal.” She mussed. “I’ll need to make a run.” 

She turned back to the man, cowering from her gaze and shrinking as far into the seat as his restraints would allow. Her eyes bore into him as the pale woman’s slender form shifted and changed. Her skin darkened, her torso filled out to a much rounder silhouette, and tufts of dark hair sprouted and grew into a long beard.

“Play nice while I’m gone, you two,” She called to them in a sing-song voice that changed to a low growl as she spoke. “I won’t be long.”

### 

Bren sat motionless on the bed he’d been sleeping on for the past six weeks. He was staring at the pack in front of him. It had everything he could possibly need. Warm, fur lined clothes, a heavy bedroll, food rations, fire starters, a pot to melt the ice into drinkable water, and he even bought some basic spell components. He wasn’t planning on using them, but he always believed it was better to have and not need than vice versa. He could leave right now.

Why didn’t he want to?

Balethorn knew about him. He’d confronted him the other night before the three went to Mel’s for a drink. And if Bale knew, then it was no question that Caden did too.

It was too dangerous to stay. Every moment he hesitated was another second he lost. He’d been here too long already. There was no getting around it, he had to run _now_ , before it was too late.

But he didn’t move.

He _couldn’t_.

He didn’t _want_ to.

_I want to stay._

He knew what staying meant. It meant they could find him. It meant they could kill him, or drag him back to Ikithon. It meant Bren wouldn’t be out of the man’s sight for the rest of his life.

But of course, he knew what leaving meant too.

Leaving meant being afraid again. No friends to laugh and tell jokes with over bad food and good drink. No warm bed he could feel safe in. No sweet wolf to beg food scraps off of him when she smelled something she liked.

It meant being alone again. And that thought almost scared him more than Ikithon.

Bren didn’t want to be alone anymore, and he didn’t want to run. He wanted to start over. Have a new life with his friends as Emil Byron, an accountant for his friend’s butchery. 

Sure, it wasn’t an exciting life, but if he ever had a complaint, he need only think of the alternative. 

Bren heard a knock at his door, and he hid the supplies from view before letting Caden in.

“Just wanted to let you know,” he began, “Bale got a special order in for some fresh boar meat, so we’re heading out to hunt one in the morning. We’ll be gone a few days, and it’ll get boring around here with you just by yourself, so why don’t you tag along?” Something felt off about the way Caden was speaking, but Bren couldn’t place it. Before he could ask though, Caden glanced toward the pack hastily shoved into a corner. “Looks like you’re already packed to go, so that’s perfect. Good night, then, see you in the morning.” And then he was gone, door shut behind him before Bren could get even a single word in.

But Bren figured he’d have plenty of time to ask about it the next morning. Feeling relieved, he set the pack back up near the door, put out the light, and slept soundly.

### 

Balethorn’s horse trudged forward in the snow behind Caden. It was quiet. The elf had told him once while they were hunting that the snow acted as a sound buffer if you stayed far enough away. But the silence that hung in the air was due more to the lack of conversation than the white expanse around them. Balethorn was hardly an expert in small-talk. He tended to rely more on Caden for that. But it appeared as though his usually talkative friend wasn’t feeling up to it. 

He could suspect why.

Behind him, he could feel Emil twitching and fidgeting. He seemed to be the only one in the group who was really itching for a discussion topic. Several times when Scout slowed enough to put Caden at a comfortable talking distance, the boy would lean over and get about half a word out before the elf would pretend to see something and ask him to hold the thought while he went to investigate. As entertaining as the little game was when it started, a few hours were enough to wear his patience down. 

“Got somethin’ on yer mind, Boyo?” 

“ _Ja,_ ” the irritated voice said behind him. “How is it you can insist I purchase our drinks every night, and yet you still refer to me as a child?” Balethorn chuckled to himself at Emil’s misdirect. As humans went, Emil was young, but certainly not a child. Even so, the occasional protest he got out of him over it had only prompted Balethorn to use the nickname more often.

“Buyin’ your elders’ drinks is a show of respect, _Boyo._ Unlike dodgin’ my questions. You know you’ll have plenty of time to corner Caden when we get there. Why the rush?”

“He was behaving strangely last night and this morning, he refuses to allow me to speak with him now, and I know for a fact you already have fresh boar meat in stock. Even if you did not, he has gone out on hunts before with only Thief that lasted less than a day. So why is it necessary to bring us for a hunt you don’t need?” Emil hardly took a breath the whole way through.

_Must’a been holdin’ that in for a while._

“Well aren’t you a sharp one.” He said simply. “Alright, you’ve got us. We’re not out here to go huntin’ any boars.”

“Then why?”

“We need to talk. In private. Thief can keep a perimeter out here better than in town.”

“ _Was?_ ” Balethorn could feel the sudden rigidity in the man’s posture. 

“We’re on yer side, Lad, remember that.” He said quickly, trying to calm him. “No need to panic just yet.”

“Why-”

“When I said _’We’_ , I meant all three of us. You’ve got a lot of questions, but just hold on to ‘em a bit longer. We’ll be at the shack soon.”

To his credit, he did wait until they reached the shack. Just not very long after.

“Alright,” Emil spoke up, “We’re here. Now what was so ‘private’ we needed to come three and a half hours outside of town to discuss?” Balethorn turned away from the group, innocently sorting through his pack on the ground. He didn’t need to see Caden to feel the glare coming his way. 

“Now don’t go blamin’ me,” he said, pretending not to notice. “You were the one runnin’ off ev’ry five minutes. It was gettin’ to be hard to watch.” When the two burning holes in the back of his scull only deepened, he added, “Anyway, the lad’s sharper than we give ‘im credit for. Had us made before we even left.”

“As riveting as this conversation is, I cannot see why it had to wait for an isolated cabin to be had.” Emil was standing impatiently by the door. Balethorn decided it was safe to turn around when he heard Caden give a heavy sigh.

“Sorry, Emil, you’re right.” He motioned to a few worn chairs around an equally well-used table. “Come and sit, I’ll ma-”

“I think I’d prefer to stand for the moment, thank you.”

“…Fine.” Caden said, hesitating for a moment before taking a seat himself. “I understand Bale told you a bit about my past, correct?” He waited for Emil to nod before continuing. “And you’ve probably guessed that he had a larger purpose in saying so than just gossip.” Again, he nodded. “You’re on the run from the Empire. That much has been obvious since we met.”

“Good news is, so are we.” Balethorn chimed in. “Bad news is they’re still lookin’ for you.”

“The other night, we think a Tracer was watching you.”

“A Tracer?”

“Skilled mercenaries the Empire sometimes employ. They track people that can’t be found through magic. The better ones can find a trail months after their target passed through. The best can follow it in days. Their existence isn’t very well known to those outside the Assembly.” Emil’s face paled at the mention of the Mages’ faction.

“And how do you know of them then?” he struggled to say.

“I was one of the best.” There wasn’t an ounce of pride in his voice when he said it. He stated it as a simple fact. “Then I was recruited to the Crownsguard so the Assembly could keep me in their pocket.”

“Nasty little buggers. Can’t get rid of ‘em either.” Balethorn said. “Make a check in ev’ry few days with their handlers. Tracer misses one, they know exactly where to send their guards.”

“ _Scheisse._ ” Emil cursed, sinking down to the floor. “So, what then? You drag me out here to tell me there is nothing to do but be caught?”

“Of course not!”

“Then wha- _oof_ ” He was interrupted by a hard pat on the back.

“If the bastard’s got you in his sight, it’s too late to do anythin’ about it.” Balethorn said cheerfully. “He’ll report it soon if he hasn’t already. But here’s the rub; With only rare exceptions, Tracers don’t tend to take the targets themselves.”

“Their specialties lie in finding and following a target, and doing so discreetly.” Caden continued for him. “Once that’s done, they report it, and others are sent in for extraction.”

Balethorn leaned heavily on Emil. “And when that happens, we need to know whose neck’s goin’ to be on the business end of my axe.” Emil looked at him with a mix of horror, hope, and a bit of awe. The dwarf gave him a smile. “We protect our own, Lad. No one’s takin’ ya.”

“Of course,” Caden said slowly, “That does mean we need to know why the assembly is after you.” The color that was slowly returning to his face drained out once again

“Not the entire Assembly, I don’t think.” He said finally. “Volstrucker… are the reason my Mother and Father are dead. I was mad for a number of years. I- I think I did something, I cannot remember.” He stared at the ground as he spoke. “A little over seven months ago, I regained my senses. I killed a guard when I escaped.”

“Well, the guard’s not likely the cause,” the dwarf grumbled. He watched Emil carefully, suspecting he was holding something back. “Ya think they’d send one of their mages?”

“ _Ja,_ maybe.” He said, almost automatically. If he knew anything else, he wasn’t going to say it.

“Well that was _loads_ of help.” 

“Bale!” Caden scolded him.

“My apologies.”

“Well if ya don’t know, then ya don’t know.” He gave a few more pats to the boy’s shoulder. “In that case, we should be takin’ precautions. Start carryin’ our arms with us. You handy with anythin’?”

Emil held up his thin arms. “Not particularly, no.”

“You tried to cast something when we met, right? I thought I heard you saying some incantation.” Caden offered.

“And you saw how wonderfully _that_ turned out.” He said, recalling his struggle to keep his lunch down.

“If ya need some help, this one’s got a bit of talent with magic.”

“Nature based healing and Arcane spells are worlds apart, Bale. And I’m really not that good with it anyway.”

“Well, we’ll find somethin’ for ya. If nothin’ else, Thief can stick by yer side.”

“Speaking of,” Caden said, standing and picking up his bow, “We might as well catch something good while we’re out here.” He walked over and stood in front of Emil. “May I?” he asked. The human looked at him in confusion before realizing he was still sitting in front of the door and scrambled to his feet

“Sorry.” He said. Caden only smiled and walked out, whistling for the wolf.

On the other side of the shack, Thief crouched low beside an icy rock. A snowy owl had caught her eye as it glided low along the ground toward her. She waited, then sprung forward onto the unsuspecting creature. Though she was sure she caught it, her teeth met nothing but a puff of air where her meal had been.

But her disappointment didn’t last long. As she looked around for where her prey might have gone, she heard her Pack calling for her. She knew he would take her to hunt bigger things that were more fun than tiny owls. The lost prey was quickly forgotten as the wolf ran toward the sound.

### 

The mirror’s image shifted out of focus before Trent Ikithon’s irritated visage came into view.

_“You’re late. Again.”_ He growled.

“Well someone’s grumpy today.” Nit twirled a strand of hair absent-mindedly in front of the mirror. Ikithon was holding his head as though he were trying to ward off a migraine.

_“Just deliver your report quickly. Despite what you may believe I do have other things to do today.”_

“But are any of those ‘things’ as fun as talking to me?”

_“Leagues above and beyond it.”_

She took on a wounded tone. “I’m hurt, Trent,” she said, as dramatically as she could manage. “And here I thought you’d be happy to hear I found your boy.” The old wizard dropped his hand and looked at her with a new eagerness in his eyes. “Glad I could catch your attention still.”

_“What is your location?”_

“Now, Icky, I know you’re excited, but maybe you want to put your wand away?” If she hadn’t been paying attention, she would have missed the angry twitch in his face. But Nit always paid attention to those little things. Messing with these fussy old Assembly fossils had become one of her favorite games. And Trent was the most fun to play with. But, then again, she still had a job to do, so in a more serious tone, she added, “I’ve run into a few complications.”

_“What kind of complications?”_

“The skilled kind. Seems your Wonderboy made some new friends. I tested them a bit, and they were on to me almost right away.”

_“You were spotted?”_ He asked incredulously. 

“You know I’m better than that. They needed a distraction…” Nit let her features shift to the large human disguise she’d been wearing. “so I gave them someone else to be paranoid about.” Ikithon relaxed and she changed back to her own face. “Your pets will only complicate things. I’ll retrieve him on my own.”

_“A few observant extras are of little concern to my Volstrucker.”_

“These ones are. And despite what _you_ may believe, I was late for good reason.” She let the silence hang in the air for a moment. She couldn’t help it, Trent was just so fun to tease. Finally, he gave an exasperated sigh.

_“Fine. ‘Why were you late?’”_ he said blankly.

“So glad you asked!” She almost sang. “Turro and I were listening in on a secret meeting of theirs. Seems they’re wanted men presumed dead. One boasts his skills with an axe, and the other,” she gave the man a significant look, “was a Tracer. ‘One of the best’” Nit copied the scarred elf’s voice perfectly. 

_“Now would be poor timing for one of your little competitions, Nit.”_ Ikithon said harshly. _“Unless, of course, you are nominating him as your replacement, in which case I would be delighted to send a recruitment envoy.”_

“Oh you’re no fun.”

_“And yet you seem to be enjoying yourself immensely.”_ Nit shrugged innocently and he continued. _“In any case, I presume you are prepared to move forward with your plans regardless of any orders from me?”_

“Just about, though I could use a horse.”

_“What happened to the one you had?”_

“Froze in a blizzard.” She said nonchalantly. Ikithon looked as though he’d rather been through with this conversation since its start. 

_“Alright. A horse. And where, may I ask am I to send your newest mount?”_

“Approximately two-hundred fifty-eight point eight six miles North, North-West of Rexxentrum. Sleepy little town called Nord Kysten. I’m at the only Inn for miles, so you can’t miss it.” Nit rushed through the explanation in one breath. Unfazed by the whirlwind of information, Ikithon gave a plastic smile.

_“Thank you, my dear. Until next time then.”_

“I’ll have your boy say hello next time we chat.”

_“For once, I am looking forward to it.”_

### 

The group stayed at the shack for another day. Caden and Thief ended up hauling two boars back to the little cabin, while Balethorn had tried to teach Bren how to wield various weapons that were stored in a small closet. He figured he probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was that they had a small armory here, but the well-kept blades hung neatly on racks had him stunned all the same.

To the surprise of no one, his attempts to swing even the more dexterous weapons were feeble at best. And after a well-deserved night of rest, the group made their way back to Nord Kysten. Arriving around noon, they made their various stops around town; dropping off the boar meat, picking up a supply of arrows, preparing for what was to come. 

The group stepped into Mel’s a few hours later, taking their usual seats up at the bar.

“Not often I see you lot here this early.” The blue Dragonborn owner greeted them. “Your boy looks awful. Been having a rough time of it, have you?”

“Just a long couple of days, Mel.” Caden explained for him. “And cold ones at that. A couple of rounds, if you could?”

“Coming right up.” Mel grabbed some tankards and began to fill them from the keg behind the bar. “Any of you three know a large human man by the name of Dhahram?” he asked when he put the tankards down.

“Pardon?” Bren asked.

“Sebeir Dhahram. Big guy, dark skin, black beard, checked in maybe four, five days ago. Yesterday he started askin’ about your boy.”

“And yer answer?”

“A young man named Stren who’s lived in this town all his life. Started bothering old codgers like you two to help him train to join the Crownsguard and get out of this backwater.”

“Ha! Come up with that yourself, did you?” Balethorn laughed. “We’re in more trouble than we thought, no one who’s seen you’d believe you could swing a sword!” he clapped Bren repeatedly on the back.

“I seem to remember you trying to get me to do just that less than a day ago.” Bren retorted.

“Aye,” The dwarf said melodramatically, “I’ve never been one to believe in lost causes when trainin’ a soldier to fight.” Then another fit of laughter overtook him. “Ya sure changed my mind quick yesterday though!”

The old Dragonborn disappeared behind a door while Balethorn cackled into his drink. He came back with a steaming bowl and placed it in front of Bren. 

“Seems you really have been having a rough go. This one’s a new recipe, on the house.”

“ _Danke._ ” Bren said. Hungry, he took a few spoonful’s before he could think better of it. He coughed at the rough flavoring of it, if he could even call it that. It was certainly far from the best stew he’d ever tasted, but it was warm, at least. As far as Mel’s food went, this was a significant improvement. Add in the fact that it was free, and it was practically gourmet. 

Bren choked the rest of the stew down between sips of mead, while Balethorn continued to chuckle every few gulps at the backstory that Mel had provided him, and Caden tried to hide his own grin. The air felt lighter than it had been in ages. A thought rose uninhibited in his mind.

_If it is beside them, I think I could stay._

Then he found that the lightness in the air hadn’t only been the friendly atmosphere around them, as he started to feel dizzy. His eyes were unfocused, and he could hardly hear when Caden told him to hide his face from the stairs. Something about a man coming down to the tavern from the rooms above.

His friend sounded worried, but why? He probably just wanted a drink, or maybe he had some of that yummy stew too, and he wanted to get some more. Bren kind of wanted some more too.

Caden’s face swam into view. And it was blurry enough that it might as well have been underwater too. Or maybe Bren was underwater. In a warm bath his mother drew for him.

“ _-don’t look too good._ ” Balethorn’s voice was muffled. Mother would probably like his new friends. Maybe she could understand how Caden bakes. And Father was sure to enjoy Balethorn’s company as well. Why hadn’t he brought them home to meet them yet? He hadn’t been home in so long.

Why was that?

They probably missed him.

He could feel cool hands on his face.

“ _-warming up. Could … in the back? He … safer there._ ”

Someone was picking him up. That was good, he felt rather tired. Maybe Frumpkin would join him for a nap while Mother and Father got to know his friends. 

He was led through a doorway, hardly able to support his own weight. His heavy eyelids lifted just enough to see an old blue Dragonborn tied up and gagged on the floor, beaten and bloody.

The sight sobered him only slightly. Just enough for a quiet voice to whisper in his mind.

_r̺̙͍͐͐̕u͖̫̼͑̈́n̡̞͓̔͘._

Everything went dark.


End file.
